


In the Deep

by 16woodsequ



Series: Steve Rogers Has PTSD [12]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Aquaphobia, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Panic Attacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, SHIELD's A+ Parenting, Steve Rogers Has Issues, Steve Rogers Has PTSD, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark Has Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Tony Stark Is a Good Bro, fear of water
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-24
Updated: 2021-01-24
Packaged: 2021-03-16 17:41:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28960395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/16woodsequ/pseuds/16woodsequ
Summary: Tony doesn't deal well with water, not since Afghanistan. But, he has been working on that, so when he and Steve get trapped in a water plant during a mission gone wrong, he canhandleit.What he had not been expecting was for Steve to be the one having problems.Turns out Steve doesn't like water either, and he isnothandling it.
Relationships: Steve Rogers & Tony Stark
Series: Steve Rogers Has PTSD [12]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2124492
Comments: 24
Kudos: 119





	In the Deep

Ever since Afghanistan, Tony is not a big fan of water.

When he had first gotten back, even showering had been a struggle, and standing water had been absolutely impossible. Things had improved slowly – or at least – he had learned to cope with showers out of sheer necessity. No matter how eccentric, the leader of Stark Industries can’t go around without washing for weeks on end.

So he had managed it.

Standing water had still been very much _not_ his favourite thing, so he avoided pools, and baths — and honestly just avoided thinking about it all together. He would have been content to live like that, except after AIM, and after he had taken out his arc reactor and admitted to Pepper some of the turmoil that had been going on in his head ever since New York, she had insisted that he go see a therapist.

He had been reluctant. Not exactly because he thought it was weak… but more because he knew instinctively that if he took that step, he would no longer be able to get by in life by very carefully avoiding the things he didn’t want to think about. Going to a therapist meant digging through the layers of denial he had built up to protect himself, and he hadn't been sure if he could handle that.

But he had done it. At first, he had gone mostly for Pepper, and then after… well, he is not too proud to admit that – once he had settled in a little – therapy actually… helped.

And of course, with therapy had come the inevitable discussion of his continued issues surrounding water (freshly aggravated by his near drowning when his house had been bombed), and with _that_ had come actual coping mechanisms and tools to use, should he ever need them.

He is probably never going to become a professional swimmer anytime soon, but at least now he can at least _look_ at a filled bath without feeling nauseated, and he can even stand to be in the room with Pepper when she wants to soak and relax.

That is still a long way from actually getting _in_ the bath, but to be honest, he doesn’t really know if he _wants_ that. As it is, he can mostly live a normal life. He had even been able to move back into the Avengers Tower and start running missions with the team. And he doesn’t have to worry too much should anything go terribly wrong during any of those missions.

Such as now, for example.

 _The next time SHIELD sends me off against evil secret scientists, I’m going to say no,_ he thinks bitterly as he trudges after Steve, a glare on his face as he flicks his eyes over the dank cement walls around them. The building is some kind of old water treatment plant. It had been long since forgotten by whatever cold-war-era government that had built it, but the damp walls and creeping mold had not deterred the suspect-terrorist group that had holed themselves up in here.

SHIELD had recently noticed suspect material getting spirited away to the plant, and he and Steve had been the two Avengers in the Tower at the time of the summons, so _they_ get to have the pleasure of creeping through the dimly lit, leaking monstrosity.

Which they may or may not be trapped in.

Tony isn’t sure if the group had had advanced warning, or if he and Steve had accidentally tripped a sensor on their way in, but the evil-scientists-wannabes had already been in the midst of fleeing by the time they had worked their way down to the labs.

There hadn't been much of a fight, because the terrorists were scattering to the wind. It had been almost pointless to pursue them, but he and Steve had ended up following the majority down a hallway… only to have it get blown up in their faces.

They hadn't been injured, thankfully. The explosion seems to have mostly been to provide cover for the scientists to escape. It had worked — because now the “hall” was a caved-in pile of rubble, and he and Steve were completely cut off from the fleeing terrorists.

That would have been frustrating enough, but, as he and Steve had been busy picking themselves up and coughing on the lingering dust from the explosion, they had heard another explosion from behind them. The explosion had been further away this time, so the sound itself had been muffled, but the whole plant had shaken with the vibrations of the detonation and one look at Steve’s face had been enough to confirm what his ears couldn’t quite tell him.

A bomb had gone off, and it had been from back where they had come from.

So now, they are busy marching through, dank, dim, damp, cement halls back the way they had come in _hopes_ that the entrance to this place is not caved in.

To be honest, he doesn’t even care very much about the evil-scientists right now. He just wants to get out into the sun and get back onto the waiting quinjet.

Of course, the universe has other plans.

“They blew the entrance too,” Steve says, a note of exhaustion in his voice as they come to stop in front of a towering pile of rubble that _used_ to be a perfectly functioning doorway. Tony grits his teeth and scans the mess in front of them, his helm display lighting up with his findings as he turns to Steve.

“Concrete and rebar,” he says. “Too deep for my scans to even get through. We won’t be digging through it anytime soon.” He glances up at the ceiling. “I wouldn’t risk my repulsors either,” he continues. “One wrong move and I could bring this whole place down on top of us.”

Steve’s jaw tightens at the bad news, and he lets out a breath, shifting his grip a little on his shield as he flicks his eyes around the dusty concrete. “Can you find us another way out?”

He scoffs. “Well unless you plan on making a home here, I better,” he quips as he turns to look back the way they had come. Steve’s mouth twitches up slightly but he stays silent, a look of alertness remaining on his face as he darts his eyes over the dingy yellow ceiling lights. The dull glow remains steady at least, despite the recent explosions.

Tony leaves him to his scouting and turns his attention inward, his eyes focusing on his helm display. “JARVIS, get me the schematics of this building,” he mutters. “Any other exits we could use?”

His helm lights up, the blueprints of the water plant spinning in front of him as JARVIS pinpoints the best possible route they could take. “The primary exits and entrances are compromised,” JARVIS tells him in a calm, cool tone. “However, there appears to be an exit leading out from the lower levels of the plant.”

The map reorientates as JARVIS shows him the exit, and he lets out a relieved breath. “Okay!” he says, raising his voice to catch Steve’s attention. “Looks like our friendly evil-scientists left us an exit in the basement. JARVIS thinks we can get out that way.”

Steve nods at that, his face softening slightly at the news of a possible exit strategy. Of course, his face doesn't do much _beyond_ that, since Steve isn’t one to really _emote_ , but Tony at least gets the impression that Steve is pleased with the situation.

To be honest, being trapped in an abandoned water plant with Steve isn’t exactly his idea of a good time. It isn’t just the _water_ part the gets to him, part of it is Steve too. Oh, things are better than they had first been a year ago on the Helicarrier, and Steve had mellowed out a little bit as the leader of the Avengers, but Tony will admit that sometimes the man can be a bit, well…stiff.

Even now, just looking at him, it is hard to read his face, and all too often Tony can’t help translating the emotional distance into dislike, or disapproval. He tries not to let it get to him, because after working with the man for a while, he has come to the conclusion that Steve is just _like_ that. It isn’t just that Steve doesn’t really smile at _him_ , he doesn’t really smile at _anyone_.

Sure, sometimes Clint will manage to elicit a grin from the man, or once and a while Natasha will make him chuckle with a story of hers… But for the most part, Tony has come to accept that Steve is just a more private, closed-off person than he is.

He will admit that that doesn’t really seem to fit with the stories his dad would tell him sometimes of Steve during the war, but, well… he is _more_ than willing to believe that Howard had been more than a little blinded by his own pride over his role in the success of Steve’s serum.

Either way, things are still a little stilted between the two of them sometimes. He is fine if Steve wants to keep their relationship professional. He can handle it, but he would still very much rather _not_ be trapped in a cement bunker with the man. To that end, he takes point as he begins to lead them down the echoing halls. Steve keeps up easily, and Tony keeps his eyes focused on the map in his helm, following as JARVIS begins to lead them through the plant.

The building itself – although ancient – isn’t too bad. Oh sure, mold grows amid the piping, and most of the middle level had been taken over by bomb-building evil-scientists, but the power still works and so far, he has yet to come across any rats or other such rodents of unusual size, so he is calling that a win.

“We’re almost there,” he calls back to Steve, as, on his map, a set of stairs lights up a few turns away.

He doesn’t see if Steve nods in response, but the man’s footsteps remain steady behind him as they walk.

“I wonder why they didn’t blow the lower exit?” he hears him muse. Tony’s brow furls slightly at the question. Steve has a good point. The terrorists had been thorough enough to rig both the exit _and_ the entrance. It is a little curious that they had left this third option alone.

“Maybe they didn’t actually want to trap us in here to die,” he says as he turns the corner that will lead out to the stairs. “Maybe they just wanted to slow us down.”

Steve doesn’t have the chance to reply before they step out of the hall onto a metal catwalk, a wide set of metal stairs leading down to the lower levels of the plant.

 _Ah,_ he thinks, his heart sinking. _Question solved._

The room itself isn’t too bad. It is wide and open, a fresh change from the dimly lit halls from earlier. He flicks his eyes up and around the perimeter of the room, large pipes angling out from the walls and disappear down into the floor. Time and neglect have chipped away at the old paint on the walls, and the lights in the ceiling are as yellow and dull as ever… but the real problem, the _real_ problem and probably the reason that the room hadn't been blown up or transformed into a bomb factory is because the whole thing is flooded.

It is hard to tell how deep the water goes. The poor lighting does nothing but reflect the nasty quality of stagnant water. It is dark, and the smell of mold and algae is strong in his nose, even with his helmet as a barrier. The dark pool laps gently at the bottom steps of the stairs, the sound of rippling water echoing around the spacious room as he stares down.

 _Okay_ , he thinks, pressing his lips together. _Okay, I can deal with this._

He can. He has been practicing for _years_ to deal with this, and he breathes in carefully, mentally pulling up his list of coping mechanisms as he wrenches his gaze away from the water down below. Steve is a few paces behind him, the man’s eyes just as riveted on the water as his had been. His jaw is locked, his shoulders tense as he stares out in front of him, his gaze only flicking away once Tony turns to him.

His jaw flexes and he clears his throat, his hands clenching briefly on his shield as he looks at him. “How deep is it?” he asks, his voice a little rough as his eyes flicker back down to the water.

Tony pulls in another calming breath, and turns to have JARVIS scan the water. His eyes jump up to the hall entrance on the other side of the room that presumably leads to the exit they had been promised.

His next breath is one of relief as the scans come back and he turns to Steve. “It looks like, at its highest, it is just over a foot deep,” he says, his shoulders loosening. “Not too deep to walk through.”

Of course, that means that they will have to _walk through it_ , but there aren’t really a lot of options right now if they want to get out of this building anytime soon, so he is just counting himself lucky that he won’t have to try to _swim_ in it.

Steve seems to come to a similar conclusion, because his eyes jump up to the doorway on the other side of the room. “That’ll lead outside?” he confirms, and Tony nods. There is an exit down that hall. All they need to do is _get_ there.

And walk through water to do it.

It’s fine, he can do that. He _can_. He has worked hard to get to a point where he can handle it. He won’t _like_ it, but that is a whole different matter altogether.

His train of thought gets cut off as, in front of him, Steve takes in a breath and nods, his shoulders squaring determinately. “Alright,” he decides, a steely glint in his eye as he swings his arm up and secures his shield behind his back. “Let’s go.”

Tony’s stomach flip flops at the statement, but he breathes in to calm himself and turns back to look at the water. He will admit that he waits a second, just to give Steve the chance to step forward first — just because, he is the leader and all, and dragging himself down into the water might be easier if he had someone to follow. But, Steve doesn’t seem inclined to take point (probably because Tony has been leading the whole time, something which he is now beginning to regret), and he is left to take the first step down by himself.

 _I can do this,_ he thinks, the metal of his suit clanging against the steps as he reaches out to steady himself on the handrailing. He can handle this. He _knows_ he can. He has been working on this sort of thing, and… and he isn’t about to hesitate while Steve is busy watching him and following along behind.

To be honest, he really has no idea what Steve would do if he found out he is afraid of water. He can’t really imagine Steve reacting _badly_ , no matter how closed-off the man is. The people-person propaganda of Captain America that he had grown up with had left its mark, and he can’t quite see Steve getting _mad_ at him for this.

But…

Well, he is uncomfortable with the idea of Steve knowing. Even if Steve’s reaction is perfectly acceptable, Tony will forever _know_ that he knows, and he will always be wondering what the man thinks of him for it.

He gives his head a slight shake to chase away the less than pleasant thoughts, and he focuses back down on the steps, part of him all too aware of Steve’s quiet footfalls behind him. He reaches the last step above the water, and his stomach clenches with anxiety, his hand tightening slightly on the banister, before he breathes in again.

 _Coping mechanisms,_ he reminds himself, taking in another subtle breath and very slowly sliding his first foot into the water.

He blinks a little because he doesn't feel anything. Of course, he shouldn’t be surprised. After he had flown up into space, and after his house had been exploded into the ocean, he had been careful to make sure that his suit could seal completely if needed. The result leaves his foot feeling slightly cool, but completely dry and he moves down another step and brings his other foot with him.

He lets out a shaky breath of relief and focuses on counting out a few breathing cycles in his head as he works on relaxing. _Okay,_ he thinks, as he takes another step down, the water rising to midway up his calf. _This could be okay._

The water laps at the seams of his suit, his movements sending a cascade of echoes bouncing around the room. He winces slightly at that. The _sound_ of water had been another issue he had needed to work on. When he had gotten back from Afghanistan, the sound of water trickling or splashing around had often pushed him right back to the sound of water rushing in his ears as he had been shoved under over and over again.

He had slowly acclimatized himself to it, both with Pepper’s help, and with his therapist’s, and now, the sound of Pepper in the bath doesn’t even bother him. That is the memory he tries to focus on as, behind him, Steve follows him into the water, the man adding his own quiet waves to the echoes.

It sounds a little too much like water splashing around in a cave (thank you, concrete walls), and he pulls in a determined breath as he takes another step forward. The metal pipes of the room are all along the perimeter, so all he needs to do is remain calm and walk in a straight line.

He looks up, and the entrance to the hall is still several feet away. His lips press together, and he cycles through a few more breaths, thinking back over his coping mechanisms as he takes another step forward, his movements mirrored by Steve behind him.

One thing that had helped him get used to the sound of water moving while Pepper had been in the bath had been _other_ noise, be it music, or just plain conversation between the two of them. He doubts Steve really wants to listen to his chosen playlist in the middle of a dim, echoey cement basement, so he ops against that method, instead choosing to fill the empty air with conversation.

“There better not be any alien algae down here or something,” he announces, spreading his hands out for balance as he steps forward. “I am deliberately _not_ having JARVIS scan for any, because I’m sure if there _were_ any, SHIELD would be busy wanting us to collect samples or something.”

Behind him, the water ripples as Steve takes another step forward, and Tony doesn’t look back as he speaks. “Yeah.”

In the privacy of his helmet, he rolls his eyes. Of course he needs to try to make conversation with Steve-I-have-never-lightened-up-a-day-in-my-life-Rogers. He probably shouldn’t be surprised though. Steve isn’t chatty on missions at the best of times, and he imagines the failure of this one probably hadn't done much for his overall mood.

Still, he tries to keep talking. “I bet the other Avengers are back at the Tower by now though,” he says, his eyes darting over the dark water as he moves forward, the lights from his suit reflecting off the surface back at him. “If Fury wants any samples or recovery done on this place, he can send them.”

“Uh huh,” Steve says, the man sounding slightly breathless behind him. Tony glances back for a second, but Steve’s eyes are focused up ahead, his jaw as stiff as usual as he trudges forward.

Tony huffs out a breath and looks forward again, deciding that mission related conversation is getting nowhere. That is fine, he has plenty of other material.

“Well,” he gets out, his eyes on the approaching hallway. “Once we get back, I am definitely not going out anytime soon. I intend to shut myself up in my lab and work on my _actual_ projects, and not the ones SHIELD keeps trying to send me.” He waves a hand, the motion reflected under him in the water. “Honestly, I’m not Fury’s pet mechanic, you know.” 

“Mn mm,” Steve says back, and Tony takes that as permission to go off on a rant about SHIELD and Fury. His ire doesn’t last long though, not when he is like this, and by the time they reach the entrance to the hall, he has shifted into a detailed line up of all his future projects for equipping the Avengers.

“I was thinking Clint might like some kind of taser arrow,” he says as he steps into the hall, his eyes flicking up to scan the water filled corridor. The yellow lights glint off the dark water, and the hall is long enough that he can’t yet see this elusive exit that JARVIS had pinpointed.

His mouth goes a little dry at the sight of how much farther they have to go, but he takes in a steadying breath and leans his hand against the wall to help keep his balance as he continues forward, his mouth still moving. “Natasha doesn’t have to have a monopoly on electrified weapons, and if we have a way of taking someone down from a distance, without injuring them too much, that might be a good idea.”

Steve only hums behind him, but the response isn’t unusual. He is all too used to having his ramblings tuned out. It doesn’t bother him as much as it might have though, since he will admit that his long-winded rant isn’t exactly the most _coherent_ one. Mostly it is just to help keep him calm and to get him out of the building.

Water splashes at his knees as he trudges along and continues to mutter and mumble about this and that, his eyes continually pinned up ahead, hoping for a glimpse of their goal.

“The pants I made for Bruce seem to be working out though,” he says, his hand trailing along the wall beside him and slipping slightly on the algae and other such growth that has accumulated over the years. He shivers at the feel, but his gauntlet protects him from actually touching anything, and the solid wall beside him helps keep him grounded, so he doesn’t take his hand away.

“I wonder if he would like an undershirt too?” he muses, the sound of his voice echoing along the water. “Does the Hulk care that he is half-naked during battle? Does Bruce?”

“Hm,” Steve says.

He is about to go off on a pros and cons debate about clothing their jolly green friend, when his brain clues into the fact that Steve hasn’t actually spoken to him _in words_ for several minutes now. His brow furls and water swirls around his feet as his words cut off and he turns back to look at Steve.

Steve is several paces behind him, the man’s face pale and intent as he continues forward, his eyes fixed on some point ahead of him as his hand presses against the wall beside him. His entire body is one collection of stiff, straight lines, and his gaze doesn’t even flicker as Tony stops to look at him, his stomach clenching with newfound worry.

“Steve?” he questions, his voice suddenly small and quiet amid the sounds of the water around them. “You okay?”

Steve doesn’t respond at all this time. His gaze doesn’t move from where it is fixed ahead of himself, and he shudders slightly as he takes another determined step forward. His hand trails along the wall beside him, and Tony is certain that his gloves are a write-off by now, but he doesn’t really care about that because as Steve comes closer, he can see that the man’s chest is moving up and down in small, shallow breaths.

He is completely silent as he breathes, which is somehow even worse than if he were to be actively hyperventilating, and Tony finds himself letting go of the wall to take a step towards Steve. His eyes flick anxiously over the man as JARVIS helpfully pulls up a scan of his vitals.

What he sees isn’t promising. Steve’s temperature is a degree lower than normal, which is probably to be expected, and that in and of itself it isn’t cause for too much alarm, but his heartrate is raised, and his breathing is agitated. Unease crawls up his spine as he stares at the scan, the symptoms together spelling out a man in deep distress.

Steve steps closer and as he comes up even with him, Tony can see that he is shivering. Fine tremors run through his body as he takes another careful step forward, his eyes continually and determinedly focused up ahead.

His mouth opens and he swallows uncertainly, his throat dry as he watches Steve and takes a step to keep pace with him. “Steve?” he tries again, his own heart beginning to pound a little harder in his chest as he flicks his eyes over him.

He had been so focused on dealing with the water that he hadn't really been paying attention to Steve. He hadn't been expecting this and he doesn’t really know what to _do_ about it, but—

Beside him, a sharp shiver runs through Steve, his hand slipping on the wall for a second as his breath catches and his jaw tightens. Tony’s heart lurches as he stumbles, and his mouth falls open as he fumbles to follow Steve’s ragged pace, his mind spinning as a _massive lightbulb dawns._

All this time he had been so focused on trying to deal with his own issues with water – and trying not to freak out, and shuffling through his own coping mechanisms – that it hadn't even occurred to him that he isn’t the _only one here_ that might have issues surrounding water.

The realisation hits him like a lightning bolt, and he feels supremely slow on the uptake as his mind flashes back to Steve’s previous stiff expressions during the mission. Of _course_ Steve doesn’t like water. Of _course_ Steve had been tense this whole time. The man had crashed into the Arctic and spent seventy-years frozen down there (and had he been conscious when he had been frozen? Tony hadn't even thought of that, but now the thought won’t leave him alone.)

Steve has every reason to be touchy around water. And now they are busy walking through a flooded basement.

Tony only knows too well what Steve is feeling.

He had been busy trying to utilise his own coping mechanisms in order to handle all of this, but it had taken him years of work with his therapist to get this far. Looking at Steve, he has the sneaking suspicion that he has not been doing the same thing.

Actually, he doesn’t even know if Steve _has_ a therapist (and now that he thinks about it, he wouldn’t be surprised to learn if he doesn’t have one,) and one look at the man shows that that had been a _major_ oversight.

Water splashes as he takes a few quick steps to keep up with Steve, his eyes flicking worriedly over his face as he tries to figure out what to do. It is clear to him that Steve is getting progressively worse the longer they spend in the water. Steve has gone from one-word responses to no response at all, his entire being seemingly focused on putting one foot in front of the other.

His eyes dart up ahead, but he still can’t see the exit yet. He mumbles out a curse and hurries to walk side-by-side with Steve. The man’s pace isn’t fast. It is consistent, but unsteady, Steve’s chest continuing to move rapidly as the yellow lights from above shine down and give a sickly hue to his pale skin. Steve’s jaw is clenched, but that doesn’t stop his teeth from starting to chatter, his breath hitching slightly as he sucks in another breath.

Tony doesn’t really know what to do about this. Usually _he_ is the one having issues. Usually _he_ is the one on the receiving end of help. He doesn’t have a lot of practice doing that sort of thing for other people, and he _certainly_ has no idea how to do it for Steve.

Steve had zoned out even amid all his talking, so he isn’t really sure if that will be helpful, and other than that, there isn’t much he can do without touching the man. That, at least, he knows is not recommended. Touch can very well make a panic attack worse, and he knows not to touch unless given permission. Considering Steve’s current state, he doesn’t think the man will be consenting anytime soon but—

Steve actually takes the choice out of his hands, because as he walks next to him, his whole body shudders, his hand slipping on the wall as a muffled noise catches in his throat and his knees give out. Tony’s heart spasms in alarm and his eyes widen as he darts forward, water splashing around him as he catches Steve’s elbow, his other hand going to his back as he tries to keep him from falling down.

Steve flinches at his touch, but he is in no condition to be pulling away. His eyes are wide, but blank, his gaze staring distantly off into the middle-distance as he sways in his grip. His breaths are audible now, the sound ragged and choked as he gasps for air and shivers, his hands shaking.

Tony swallows, his stomach squirming with uneasiness as he watches Steve. He has never seen him like this before. Steve has always been stoic, and put together, and level-headed, and now— Now he looks scared. And young.

Sometimes he forgets how much younger Steve is than him.

He blinks and gives his head a shake, focusing back down on Steve. The man is seemingly frozen now, no longer trying to walk forward. Instead, he stands shaking, his breath thin and panting in the echoing hall, his gaze fixed somewhere else.

 _Okay,_ he thinks determinedly, pulling in a breath and trying to ignore the feel of the water lapping against his calves. Okay. Steve is out of commission right now. He needs to get them both out of here, and he needs to do it without freaking out.

Oddly enough, Steve’s breakdown helps keep him from spiralling into one of his own. His discomfort with water remains present in the back of his mind, but he is able to push it away for now, all his focus going to Steve instead.

“Okay,” he says, because even if the talking doesn’t help Steve, it helps _him_ , and he feels weird standing there completely silent while Steve falls apart. “We’re almost there,” he says, even though he has no idea of that is true. “We just need to get outside, Steve. We’re almost there.”

Steve doesn’t respond, and Tony isn’t really sure if he hears him or not. His teeth dig into his lips and he tightens his grip on Steve before taking a step forward, pulling him along with him. “That’s it,” he says, as Steve stumbles after him. “Keep going, we’re almost there.”

He turns to look down the hall and sets off in a steady pace, keeping his hands continually on Steve as the man splashes after him. His breath is still ragged as he walks, his gasps intercut by shivers as he follows woodenly and maintains his dead-eyed stare ahead.

 _Thousand-yard stare,_ Tony thinks as he marches forward determinedly. _Isn’t that what it is called?_

Beside him, Steve’s footing slips, and he finds himself in a death grip as Steve’s hands fly out to latch onto him, fine tremors running through him as he pants. “I gotcha,” he says, tightening his hold reassuringly. “I gotcha, you’re okay.”

Steve doesn’t look at him, his chin ducking as his throat flexes and he bursts out into a cough. His whole body shudders with the force of it, and Steve’s head twitches to the side, more coughs managing to break past his gasps and chattering teeth as he leans into him.

Tony isn't sure why he is coughing, but he assumes it isn’t a good sign, and he tugs Steve along with him again. Steve follows, his grip tight on his gauntlet as he lets out another cough and pulls in a few more rough breaths, the sound echoing off the walls.

“Keep breathing,” Tony tells him, his eyes flicking back and forth between him and the hall. He can’t very well coach Steve through breathing exercises right now — no matter how much he needs them — and he feels a spark of hope as, up ahead, the yellow lights of the plant reflect off of something grey and metal.

“It's the exit,” he says, letting out a breath of relief. “We’re almost there.”

He isn’t sure if his announcement makes headlines for Steve. The man’s face remains pale and drawn as he stumbles after him, his steps growing more laboured as his knees threaten to give out on him. Tony glances down and notices that, unlike his suit, Steve’s does nothing to protect him from the cold of the water. He is soaked up to the knee, the water threatening to creep higher up the fabric as they walk and Steve’s clumsy footing creates waves in the water.

He imagines none of that is helping the situation.

But, they really _are_ almost there, and as he pulls Steve along, he tells JARVIS to find wherever their exit leads out to, and to bring the quinjet around to their location. JARVIS confirms that the quinjet is on its way, which is a relief, and he keeps his eyes pinned on the metal door up ahead, the exit growing nearer and nearer with every step.

The door is slick with green algae when they arrive, but it doesn’t look reinforced or otherwise difficult to open. It looks like a regular employee side door. He uses his hip to push against the handlebar, hoping that the thing isn’t locked, and that he won’t have to try to wrestle his grip from Steve to get the door open.

Luck seems to decide that he has had enough upsets for the day, because the door gives under his weight. It lets out an unhappy groan as he leans on it, but all it takes is one last shove before it springs outwards.

He stumbles for a second as it gives, but he manages to keep his footing as he squints against the newfound sunlight. The sky is mostly overcast, so it isn’t too bad, but Steve flinches away from it anyway, his arm jerking in his grip as the water begins to rush past their feet into the great outdoors.

He almost loses his footing again due to the sudden rush of water, but he manages to keep his balance, and he leans against the door as he steps out and tugs Steve after him. The door exits out into what must have been employee parking for the plant. Murky water swirls around his feet as he steps out onto the cracked concrete, and he feels his shoulders ease as he sees the quinjet parked a few feet away, the hangar open and waiting.

Next to him, Steve shudders, a low moan of distress sounding from his throat as a breeze blows across the lot. His wet clothes are no doubt freezing in the weak sunlight and Tony sucks in a determined breath as he sets his sights on the waiting ship. “We’re almost there,” he tells him again, water puddling under his feet as he convinces Steve’s legs to start walking again. “Just a little longer.”

Steve follows, his breath tight and laboured in his chest as Tony tugs him up the ramp and pulls him over to the row of seats lining the wall. Steve settles down clumsily, his eyes focused off to the side as he continues to breathe heavy and open-mouthed.

“Alright JARVIS, close the door and get us back to the Tower,” he orders, nerves crawling around in his stomach as he looks over Steve’s distraught state. He doesn’t really know what to do at this point. They are out of the water at least, but it is clear Steve is still very much in the middle of spiralling.

“Steve?” he tries for a second. Steve doesn’t respond, his shoulders hunching as he bends over and clutches at his chest, his fingers digging into the fabric of his suit as he shivers. Okay, that isn’t working. “JARVIS?” he tries. “Any suggestions?”

“I would suggest getting Captain Rogers into something warm and dry,” JARVIS says. “Once the object of his distress is mediated, he may become more open to further calming techniques.”

Right, okay, that makes sense. For his part, Tony folds away his suit and steps out of it, his eyes darting around the ship and the individual supply crates in the wall nearby. Due to the nature of their jobs, the ship is fully stocked with emergency supplies, and he knows that every Avenger has at least one pair of extra clothes to change into.

He steps over to Steve’s crate and pulls it open. Sure enough, inside he finds a duffle bag and he brings it over to Steve, unzipping it to find a pair of sweatpants and a sweat shirt, as well as sneakers and several pairs of socks.

“Okay,” he says, looking up at Steve. The man is still rather out of it. His breaths are not as loud now, but Tony isn’t really sure if that is actually a good thing. Steve’s eyes are distant, and he doesn’t move beyond the shivers that wrack his whole body and disrupt his breathing.

“Okay,” he says again, trying not to look awkward as he looks down at the clothes. It is clear to him that Steve is in no place to do this himself… but this isn’t exactly something he wants to be doing either. It can’t be helped though, and he pulls in a fortifying breath before setting the bag down and kneeling in front of Steve.

“I’m going to take your boots off,” he warns, because while he can’t avoid touching him right now, he can at least give him some advance warning. Steve doesn’t respond, and he presses his lips together before reaching for the first strap of the boots.

The leather is slippery and cold, making it hard to tug the things off, but he manages it eventually. He pulls off Steve’s drenched socks as well and makes a note that Steve’s boots need to be his next project. He doubts any kind of boot could have stayed dry through this, but he can probably do better.

Steve’s feet are red and cold, and he gets up to fetch a towel, grabbing a few of the emergency blankets for good measure on his way back. He drapes the blankets around Steve’s shoulders before kneeling down again, and he takes some comfort in the fact that Steve is present enough to grasp at the blankets with white knuckles.

He is still mostly robotic as Tony wipes off his feet and then convinces him to stand for a second so that he can switch out his pants. It isn’t _quite_ as awkward as he feared it might be, since Steve doesn’t really seem to really care, and his underwear is thankfully dry and can be left alone.

Once the sweatpants are on, Tony slips on a pair of socks and the sneakers, before managing to work Steve’s gloves off. The leather is wet and slick with the grime of the plant, and the hand he isn’t working on remains determinedly fisted in the blanket around his shoulders. Steve remains mostly pliant for the whole thing, but his hands tighten possessively on the blanket, his breath stuttering dangerously when Tony attempts to move it so that he can switch out the top of his uniform for the sweatshirt.

Steve looks pale and near frantic at the prospect of losing the blankets and Tony decides immediately that the sweatshirt is not necessary. The top of the suit isn’t wet, and even if the sweatshirt would probably be more comfortable, switching the two would probably cause more harm than good right now.

That decided, and the clothes swap completed, his is left to try to talk Steve out of the spiral he had been tumbling down for the last little while. _Okay,_ he thinks, mentally cataloguing his own coping mechanisms. _I hope this works._

“Hey Steve?” he starts tentatively, staying in his kneeling position as he looks up at the man. “Can you hear me?”

Steve’s eyes drop down to him. They don’t focus on him _exactly_ , but his gaze is a bit more localised than before, so he takes that as a good sign. “Alright,” he says, running his hand over his knees. “Can you do something for me?” he starts, Steve blinking sluggishly as he talks. “Can you name five things you can see?”

The senses grounding technique had been one of the first things his therapist had taught him, and for a second, he worries that Steve might not respond, and that he will have to figure something else out, but after a second of painful breathing, Steve manages to flick his eyes about the cabin.

He blinks rapidly, as though trying to get his eyes to focus, and his throat works for a moment before he is able to croak out, “Chair.”

Alright, that is a start. “Good,” he says, nodding his head. “What’s another thing?”

Steve’s head bobs, but he manages to breathe in and dart his eyes around. “Blanket,” is the next thing, and slowly Steve works his way through the five things for sight.

“Okay,” Tony breathes in, glad that things are going well so far. “Four things you can touch.”

Steve shivers slightly at that, but his eyes drop down to the blanket again, and that becomes the first item. By the time they get to three things they can hear, Steve’s gaze is looking a little less distant, and his words a little less choppy.

“Engines,” he says, pulling in a breath as his feet press against the floor. “The hydraulics system. Heartbeat.”

Tony blinks and can’t help the question that tumbles out of his mouth. “Heartbeat?”

Steve nods, swallowing heavily as he pulls the blanket around him tighter and reaches out with one hand to tap his chest. “Yours,” he says, his finger beginning to tap along to his pulse as Tony stares at him in shock.

He had not known that Steve could hear heartbeats. He supposes the serum must have enhanced his ears in order to be able to, but he can’t imagine what that must be like. Can he hear them all the time? How does he not go insane?

He doesn’t have time to ask any of that, because Steve’s eyes get a little clearer as he blinks and glances around the cabin again. His hand stills on his chest, and Tony sees him tense up again, his face draining of any blood it had managed to gain as his breath catches anew.

“Who—” his fingers dig into his shirt and Tony glances up at him in concern, not sure what had set him off this time. In front of him, Steve sucks in a short breath, his eyes flicking around the room frantically. “Who’s— who’s flying the plane?” he gets out, his breathing growing more rapid and undoing all the progress he had been making.

He sucks in another breath, his whole frame shuddering as he clutches at his shirt. “Who’s flying the— Who—?”

Tony’s eyes widen and he doesn’t even think as his hand reaches up to clasp Steve’s on his chest. “It’s okay!” he bursts out, trying to break into Steve’s spiral. “It’s fine. JARVIS has it on autopilot. It's okay.”

Contrary to what he had been hoping, his words seem to push Steve farther over the edge, his eyes glazing over as his breath goes quiet and shallow. “It’s heading for New York,” he mumbles, and Tony flicks his eyes over him desperately, trying to figure out what is happening.

Steve lurches in his seat and makes an aborted effort to get up, his movements hampered by Tony in front of him. “I—” he sways slightly and blinks slowly. “I gotta put ‘er in the water.”

All at once, Tony realises what is happening, and his other hand snaps out to press onto Steve’s knee as he tries to stand up again.

“No,” he manages, trying not to sound too panicky as the words fall out of his mouth. “No, it’s fine. It’s fine. You’re not on the Valkyrie. This plane is safe, it’s okay, just sit.”

Steve isn’t really in any condition to be forcing himself up (although if he did manage it, Tony takes comfort in the fact that JARVIS would probably be able to keep them from crashing, should the Captain try to do so.) As it is, he slumps back, his breaths thin and his face pale again as he shakes.

Alright, okay. Back to square one.

“Steve?” he says, worry pulling at his voice as he leans forward, his hand still over Steve’s on his chest. “You need to slow your breathing, Steve.”

To be honest, he doesn’t really expect that to do anything, but at his words, Steve’s eyes flick up, his gaze bleary but focused on him. His head dips for a moment, but he manages to look up again, his hands trembling as he presses a little harder on his chest and reaches out for his other hand.

Tony sits mutely and lets him take his hand, and he watches as Steve presses it to his own chest, his hand resting on top as he takes in a deliberate breath. _Oh,_ Tony figures out what is going on, and he actively tries to steady out his own breathing and make it as expressive as possible. His chest rises under Steve’s hand, and the man swallows as he tries to match it, his head bowed as he breathes.

The position is strangely vulnerable, and Tony has the sudden image of Steve doing this before, in a different life, before the serum.

The technique seems to be working, because Steve’s breathing slowly begins to get more controlled, and he seems to be more present than before. He is still trembling slightly, the vibrations traveling down his arm into Tony’s body, and his face is still tight and pale, but he is not, at least, actively panicking.

After a few more minutes of that, JARVIS speaks up, his voice quieter than usual as it sounds through the cabin. “We are nearing the Tower,” he announces. “ETA, ten minutes.”

Tony relaxes at that. “That’s good,” he says, Steve nodding slowly next to him. He isn’t exactly sure what one does in the ‘aftermath’ of these kinds of things, but he lets his mouth run, filling the air with empty rambles and ignoring his tingling feet as he waits for the quinjet to get home.

“We’ll have to put your suit in the dryer or something,” he says, watching as Steve lets go of his hands and pulls away from him, his breaths only hitching slightly as he tugs at his blankets. He drops his arms, blood rushing back to his fingers as he continues talking. “I’ll handle the report to Fury, I’ll just report the explosion and that we got out fine. We don’t even need Bruce to check for injuries I don’t think—”

He gets cut off as Steve’s head snaps up, his face pale again as he stiffens. “JARVIS,” he gets out sharply, and Tony flicks his eyes over him uncomprehendingly. “Are the Avengers in the Tower?”

He has no idea what that has to do with anything, and he stays quiet as JARVIS responds. “Indeed, Captain. They returned half-an-hour ago.”

That doesn’t seem to put Steve at ease, his face tightening further and his gaze darting away as he mumbles just loud enough for Tony to hear, “They can’t see me like this.”

Tony opens his mouth to protest, but he doesn’t get the chance, because Steve is already pulling away from him. In front of his very eyes, he watches as Steve hardens, his shoulders straightening and his chin raising as he sucks in a breath. There is a glint in his eyes as he pulls off the blankets and begins to fold them, his movement stiff and calculated as he keeps his entire focus on the blankets.

Tony leans back and stumbles to his feet, watching bewilderedly as Steve pushes himself up, all traces of the vulnerable man he had been only minutes ago fading faster by the second. It is disconcerting to watch. Tony’s hands feel cold as he watches Steve put the blankets away with deliberate efficiency (as though he hadn't been clinging to them ten minutes earlier), and crouches to systematically shove his wet things into his duffle bag.

He is still dressed half in sweats and half in his suit, his shield still clasped on his back, but somehow, when he stands, he manages to look imposing and stern, and not at all like he had been cycling through panic attacks for the better part of the afternoon.

He looks… he looks like he _always_ looks, and Tony has the sudden, terrible thought that maybe, this is not the first time Steve has shoved everything down and bottled things up and pulled up _this._ How… how often does he do that? How much of _this_ is actually him? How much of it is a shield, as tangible and real as the one on his back?

He has no idea, because before this, he hadn't ever seen a side of Steve that _wasn’t_ this, but now that it is back, he can’t help the sick swirl of loss that settles in his stomach. “Steve…” he starts, and he doesn’t know what he plans to say, but his words cut off as Steve looks up at him, his gaze steady and completely opposite from the distant, zoned-out trance he had been in for most of this.

“Thank you,” he says stiffly, looking down as he zips his duffle bag a little more forcefully than usual. “You shouldn’t have had to deal with that.”

Tony opens his mouth, and he almost blurts out the fact that he had more or less gone through the same thing after Afghanistan, and that he understands, and doesn’t mind, and that probably pushing it away isn’t that great of a plan because he already knows how _that_ turns out— but he doesn’t get the chance, because the quinjet shifts and begins to angle downwards for its landing.

Steve’s hands tighten slightly on his duffle bag, and his lips press together in distaste for the barest of a second at the altitude change. The expression is gone in an instant, and before this, Tony never would have noticed it, but now it feels like a glaring red flag.

He doesn’t know how to talk about it though, and he is left to watch as the quinjet lands and Steve steps out smoothly, his bag slung over his shoulder as he heads towards the door leading to the common room.

Tony follows him out, and soon they are both standing by the kitchen island, the rest of the Avengers greeting them as they get in.

“Hey, Cap,” Clint calls from his spot on the couch. His eyes flick over his sweatpants and he cocks his head. “Run into trouble?”

Steve nods, and flicks his eyes over to Natasha as she leans on the island countertop to listen. “The terrorists got away,” he says, reciting off the facts of the mission with the same clinical tone that he _always_ does.

Before this, Tony had always found himself exasperated by Steve’s uptightness and insistence on stiff language. But now… now he can only stare at him, Steve’s speech completely different from the stuttered, fearful phrases from earlier on the ship.

The others don’t seem to notice anything, and Tony actually finds himself under the scrutiny of Natasha once Steve’s report is finished. “You okay?” she asks, flicking her eyes over his pale face and wide eyes.

His gaze darts to her, and he stares. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Steve slip away, the man making it to the elevator without drawing any questioning from anyone because he _always_ looks like that, meanwhile, Natasha is looking at him worriedly because he is busy being shaken up over _Steve._

Steve who had basically had three consecutive panic attacks in the past hour, and who is most definitely not alright, but is apparently so practiced in covering up for that, that he had managed to do it well enough to fool everyone.

 _They can’t see me like this,_ he had said, and Tony thinks he understands Steve better than he had ever done before.

Natasha is still looking at him, and he swallows, nodding at her. “Yeah,” he manages, breathing in. “Just tired.”

Natasha doesn’t look like she quite believes him, and she isn’t wrong, but not in the way that she thinks.

oOo

He can’t get the incident out of his head.

In the following days, he sits in the lab and replays the scene over and over, even having JARVIS replay the recordings from his suit so that he can better study Steve in it. Had Steve been uncomfortable the whole time? It is hard to tell. Steve is stiff and business-like on _all_ missions.

He had never questioned it before. On bad days, he had interpreted Steve’s cold, standoffishness as dislike, or disapproval. Now… now he is beginning to suspect that there is a significant amount of distress mixed in there.

He doesn’t know what to do about it. Now that he can recognise it, he is aware that Steve isn’t exactly very close to _anyone_ on the team. They all like him, more or less, but he doesn’t think there is anyone in particular that would be very fit to talk to him about this sort of thing.

And if his episode on the ship is anything to go by, he needs to talk about it.

Tony doesn’t really know what SHIELD had done for him when he had woken up from the ice. He _assumes_ that the organisation had gotten him some kind of therapist, but… well…

He doesn’t actually know if they had and… even if they had, obviously it is slow progress for Steve.

Maybe because he is busy putting up walls for everyone around him.

Tony lets out a breath and presses his palms into his eyes. Now that he had seen a different side of Steve, and now that he is convince the man isn’t dealing with it well, he finds he can’t just let it go. He can’t leave things as they are, no matter how much easier it would be to do so.

He is beginning to understand why Pepper had been so insistent on getting him into therapy. It is _hard_ to watch someone fall apart from the outside.

He pulls in a breath and squares his shoulders, his chin raising as he looks at his most recent completed project before him. On the table are a pair of boots. Waterproof boots this time, because the boots SHIELD’s suit had come with are unacceptable.

He stares at the boots, and he knows what they represent.

If he wanted to, he could drop these off at Steve’s room and leave them in front of his door without saying a thing. He could let the man push this all under the rug and pretend it never happened. He could pretend he hadn't seen what he had.

Or… he could not do that.

That is the harder option, and he has no doubt Steve will be resistant to his efforts at first. It is very clear that Steve’s primary coping mechanism is denial, and he had been very concerned about appearing to be fine in front of the other Avengers.

Steve probably won’t open up or change right away but, well… Tony has experience doing that too, and he knows that right now, all he needs to do is get the conversation _going_. Steve may want to bury himself under protocol and decorum, but Tony isn’t going to let him do that.

He has time, he will work his way around his walls eventually.

But for now, it will start with the boots.

He lets out his breath and nods sharply, reaching for the boots and pushing himself away from the table. “JARVIS,” he calls, heading towards the elevator. “Take me to Steve’s room.”

Here goes nothing.

**Author's Note:**

> I’ve had this idea in my head for a long time. It took me a while to figure out how to frame it, but I really wanted a story where Tony discovers that he and Steve have more in common than he thinks, and for Tony to be the one actually dealing with it better. I liked having Tony help Steve.
> 
> My tumblr:[16woodsequ](https://16woodsequ.tumblr.com/)  
> 


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